In August, I had Covid…again. This time it was no worse than a bad cold (but I hate colds)
Next event: I tightened my belt, put on my big-girl panties, and took a bravery pill. Then I went to a neurologist physician for a brain scan.
When I went back for the results, the doctor said, “It’s not good news.”
Gulp.
“Your brain scan was abnormal.”
So? My brother had told me that years ago. But now it’s official.
The scan indicated that I have had mini strokes. I knew that, too. What I did not put together was that it was these mini strokes that caused my poor reading. (Since the 4th grade?) Big deal. I've learned to live with it.
Anyway, the doctor prescribed a “tried and true” epilepsy medication, and it has helped.
At least it “helped my feelings.”
The next step: the doctor increased my dosage. I stressed about that increase, and because I stressed, I got shingles! I went to my GP and told him about the itch around my waist.
I remembered my sweet little cat, Victor, and would not want to give him up. I implored the doctor, “Please don’t tell me I have fleas!”
“No, you don’t have fleas, it is shingles.”
That meant more medication.
Next event: After the shingles, I had two injections, one was the second shingles shot, and the other was for RSV. Respiratory syncytial virus, that nasty stuff that old people get. Wait! I’m not old!
Well, anyway, those knocked me on my butt.
Next event: My last bout with Covid has affected my hearing. When I shake my head, it sounds like a child’s tricycle horn.
At other times, it sounds like an angry squirl fussing at me.
But the worst, is that it sounds like when air flowing, muffled through a metal pipe.
Say, did you read my first book, "The Wearhouse?" I wrote about little Katie playing on her swing set. When she blew into the cross bar, a bat flew out the other end. Do you suppose that’s what happened to me? Instead of blowing out, I sucked in. Now I have bats on my brain!
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